


Harry's Story: Mirror

by Reyka_Sivao



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e21 Deadlock, Gen, Mirror Universe, Mirror Universe Character Death, PTSD, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyka_Sivao/pseuds/Reyka_Sivao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to "Deadlock". Harry is one of only two people to escape his doomed version of Voyager for its quantum copy—and that's not something he can forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry's Story: Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This is a tag to season 2, episode 21 "Deadlock". If you haven't seen it, this will make no sense. (It's the episode where Naomi Wildman is born.)

The whine of a Vidiian energy weapon shot past Harry's head as he crouched behind the bulkhead.

Lieutenant Baxter and an ensign from engineering sprinted past, followed closely by Tom. Ugly yellow-orange beams chased them down, closely followed by their Vidiian masters.

Baxter made it around the corner, just barely missed by another blast…but the woman from engineering was hit straight on, and went sprawling with dark hair pooling around her head. Then Tom lost his footing and went down, unable to dodge the next few blasts.

Harry jerked.

_NO! No, no, no!_

One of the Vidiians stopped by the unconscious woman— _What was her name?_  thought Harry desperately, as if it mattered—while the other rolled Tom's unconscious form onto his back. Both pointed cruel-looking devices at their victims.

Everything in him ached to save the two from the fate that awaited them.

But he couldn't.

It was already too late. They were going to die, no matter what he did or didn't do, and if he tried, he would only be killed himself for his effort.

At that moment, that thought didn't bother him much. He would still have done it, just so that he didn't have to stay there and do  _nothing!_

He would have, except…

Holding his phaser in a white-knuckled grip, Harry prepared to cross the hallway the second the Vidiians' attention was safely away from him.

Away from him, and on which organ to rip from Tom's body first, on the woman who was about to die without Harry ever knowing her name…

Firmly pushing that thought aside, Harry focused on his goal.

Sickbay.

Must get to sickbay.

If he didn't, the baby was going to die with the rest of them.

The Vidiian pointed its weapon at Tom.

Harry bit his lip, silently repeating his mantra and his apology.

_Must get to sickbay…must get the baby._

The Vidiian fired, and Tom's unconscious form jerked and writhed.

Harry darted across the hallway.

_Must get the baby…_

He desperately repeated that to himself, seeking absolution as he tried to ignore the sounds coming from behind him.

* * *

There was sickbay; there was the baby's cradle.

Empty.

There was that awful moment where his life's all-consuming purpose was suddenly empty, sucking at his soul like a vacuum.

Someone cried out, and the raw agony of it scorched his own throat…

There was the doctor finding him; the baby, alive after all; there was the equally harrowing race to deck fifteen before time ran out, but it was all jumbled, so confused, so awful, why couldn't it just  _end?_

* * *

Harry's eyes opened.

For a moment, the all-consuming darkness threw him.

Where…?

Then reality reasserted itself.

He was in his quarters, back on Voyager—and everyone was alive.

Or was any of that true? Was this really  _his_ Voyager,  _his_  quarters? Were the people who walked its corridors really  _his_  crewmates?

Harry rolled onto his side and stared into the darkness.

His Voyager was gone. His crewmates were dead. He had seen them die with his own eyes. They were  _dead!_

Yet here they were.

And he…he had died here. That was a matter of record, and B'Elanna had seen  _him_ die with her own eyes.

Yet here he was.

Harry ran a hand through sweat-damp hair.

This was  _not_  working. This was the third night in a row that he'd had this nightmare.

It was also the third night he'd spent aboard his ship that wasn't.

Harry rolled back, an arm tossed over his forehead, considering his options. Only one really presented itself, and while he wasn't terribly keen on it, he was getting pretty desperate for a decent night's sleep.

With a sigh, he heaved himself up, got dressed, and headed for sickbay.

* * *

"Hey, Doc."

The Doctor was still…could he be said to be awake? Well, he was  _up_ , babysitting some experiment he'd set up.

"Ah, Ensign Kim! To what do I owe the…rather late pleasure?"

"Actually, that's just what I was hoping you could help me with. I can't sleep."

"Oh? And why not?"

Harry hesitated.

"I only ask because people seem to forget that I am, in addition to surgeon, biomedical expert, and xenobiologist extraordinaire, also a fully programmed counselor. If your inability to sleep is related to nightmares or flashbacks, as is entirely likely after a traumatic experience, that particular skill set might be far more useful to you than pharmaceuticals."

"…couldn't I just have a sleeping pill?"

"Don't make me pull rank."

Harry hesitated again, then yielded. "Yeah, nightmares."

"Care to tell me about them?"

"Do I have to?"

"I'm supposed to say no, but the fact is, I'd be medically irresponsible not to use my most relevant programming, so yes. You do."

Harry sighed, resisting the urge to ask why he couldn't have been programmed with anything resembling a bedside manner, but aloud he only said "Touché."

"Well?"

Harry picked up a medical tricorder and examined it for a long moment, without ever really seeing it.

"It's…weird, you know? Being alive when you're dead, serving on a shipful of people who…aren't really the same crewmates you've always served with."

"So you're feeling a little…unreal?" Doc raised his eyebrows. "I can relate."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"Don't be; I'm used to it," said the Doctor. "Just part of being an artificial lifeform. But I believe you were telling me about those nightmares."

Harry really didn't want to answer. But he  _did_  really want those sleeping pills.

"I'm on Voyager—the other Voyager—my Voyager?—trying to get past the Vidiians and get baby Wildman to…here." Harry flipped the tricorder open and closed again. "There are intruders everywhere, and…" He swallowed and flattened his voice. "And I saw them take down Tom and an ensign from engineering." He gave a humorless half-laugh. "I should be more worried about watching my best friend die, but what bothers me more is that I can't remember that woman's name."

"Not an unusual response, to focus on an apparently inconsequential detail. It can act as a buffer, when more important things are too much to think about."

Harry didn't respond, focusing instead on the smooth surface of the tricorder.

"Well? Was there more?"

Harry switched out the tricorder for an unloaded hypospray.

"Not much. It just gets less coherent—the last clear thing is being in sickbay and thinking they've already gotten the baby. Then I'm trying to get back to deck 15…and then I wake up."

Finally, Harry looked up and met the Doctor's holographic eyes. "So, what's the verdict, Doc? Crazy, or just overreacting?"

"Neither," said Doc. "What you have is a bad case of survivor's guilt, complicated by the fact that you're living with doubles of everyone whose death you feel guilty for. While there isn't much in the literature on that exact situation, your reaction is hardly unexpected. Not logical, perhaps, but very much human."

Harry let out a breath. It was strange, but he felt slightly…lighter. He turned the hypospray over in his hand one more time, and then put it back.

The Doctor was rummaging in a drawer, and pulled out a small bottle. "Here," he said, opening it and handing Harry two small pills. "These should help for tonight. However, if you have these nightmares again, I expect you to come back."

"Ok, Doc. Thanks," said Harry, swallowing the pills and stepping towards the door. "And…" he paused, trying to put something into words. Nothing came to mind, so he settled for repeating himself. "Thanks."

"Any time," said the Doctor, turning back to his experiment.

* * *

Harry walked the corridors again, this time not being chased by alien invaders, and even the ghosts of his friends seemed to have faded into the background.

This was home. If not  _his_ home, then at least the home of someone who had been exactly like him until his untimely death. He could do worse than to step into that other self's life.

Harry rubbed his head. The combination of sleep deprivation and whatever was in those pills was starting to get to him.

As he neared his other self's quarters, an ensign came around the corner, nodding as she passed.

A dark-haired woman, from engineering, whose name Harry could never remember.

"Ensign," Harry called before he could stop himself.

"Yes, sir?" She stopped and turned back.

By this time, Harry was feeling more than a little lightheaded. He probably should have waited to take the pills until he got to his quarters.

"I'm sorry, I just…couldn't remember your name."

She blinked. "Amanda Jor."

Harry nodded slowly, sinking into that odd feeling of distance. "I'll…remember that, this time." He turned and stepped toward the door, putting a hand on the bulkhead to steady himself.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

Harry paused and turned back, letting the words reach him through the fog.

"…yes," he said finally. "Yes, I think I am."

And with that, he stepped through the door into his quarters.


End file.
